


Rebuilding Cut Ties

by MegsRiann



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Thunderbirds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, Family Drama, Rediscovery, referenced attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-01-07 15:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18413438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegsRiann/pseuds/MegsRiann
Summary: Scott Tracy and Peter Stone are one in the same, born from necessity to get away from a precarious life and rebuild himself. When his father decides it’s time for him to stop hiding away, he’s got some difficult decisions to make. A series of one-shots exploring those decisions, and why things are the way they are.





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: This will be a series of one-shots based on something that likes to niggle in my mind at times. It’s very AU, so timing will not always match up, but the main thing to know is that Peter Stone and Scott Tracy are one in the same. The Thunderbirds foundation in this is the 2004 movie, but it does incorporate the other media. It will feature other characters and eventually OCs, but is mostly Scott/Peter based. 

Disclaimer: I mean, duh. 

This first one is based on an old prompt “A major protagonist's father suddenly drops by” so here you go! 

\-------------------------

Peter was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of a firm knock on his office door. 

"It's open," he called out, pushing aside any feelings the unexpected text message had surfaced. 

"Here are the notes on the Hoffman case. When are you prepping Angelica and Sandra?" As usual, the SVU lieutenant jumped straight into business. 

"Sandra is coming in at two this afternoon, Angelica at five. I would like to go over statements with both you and Carisi again at some point." 

Liv opened her mouth, but settled on a nod, "I'll get back to you on that," before swiftly exiting his office. 

With the room once again to himself, his hand unconsciously unlocked his phone. His eyes read and reread the message he couldn't get out of his mind. He felt a rush of nervous energy, chased by anger. He blew out a breath, rubbing a hand through his hair and drew in a quiet gasp as he felt tears prick his eyes. Ten years. Ten _fucking_ years since he had seen or spoken to his father and suddenly, suddenly he wants to meet. The man couldn't even be bothered to call, simply texting 'Will be in NY Thursday for TI meetings. Meet me for lunch at 1'. 

Peter felt another surge of anger, this time directed at his father. Ten years and the man couldn't even pretend to ask, as if he had a choice. A voice inside told him he could ignore it-there was no reason to go. Nothing drastic had changed, he had no pressing drive to make amends. But too big a part of him longed for that connection. Despite everything, he missed his father immensely. He missed his entire family. He regretted walking away from them the second he did it, but if he hadn't, his relationship with his father, and his family as a whole, would likely be irreparably destroyed. 

He chose not to respond for now, so he could come up with an excuse later if needed. Plus, it gave him time to figure out exactly how his father got his cell number. For now, though, he turned back to his present workload. 

\------------------------- 

It was nearing midnight before the pilot-turned-attorney reached his Chelsea waterfront apartment. After hours spent prepping witnesses for trial, followed up with drinks and discussing case details with two of Manhattan's finest, all he wanted to do was crawl straight into his bed. He stripped down and brushed his teeth before curling under the covers, trying not to dwell on the holes in his case. The SVU detectives are good and no one doubts their guy's guilt, but the lack of clear-cut evidence is always a risk. As his mind faded away from the case, he realized there was only about 13 hours until he was supposed to meet with his estranged father. _Nope. Not the time for that._ He thought, once again shifting his mind. _Anything but that._

 

Peter woke 10 minutes before his alarm, as usual. After a short internal battle, he forced himself out of bed, into his workout gear, and out the door. He pounded out three miles on the pavement before slipping into his current favorite coffee shop. He chatted with the two baristas as he waited for his coffee and breakfast sandwich and then sat near a window to people watch as he ate. After finishing, he jogged back to his apartment much slower, regretting the twinge in his leg. 

When he got back, he tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and made his way to the shower. Within minutes, he was wrapping a towel around his waist and standing before the mirror. He stared at himself for what felt like hours before shaking out of his stupor and grabbing the shaving cream. By the time he was done, he had well over two hours before he needed to be into work, but since he would likely be taking time for lunch, he left early. 

By 10, he had poured his third cup of coffee, finished his final report on a prior case, and was preparing for the trial that would begin Monday. He was surprised and relieved when Carmen let him know Hoffman's defense attorney, Nikki Staines, was outside, wanting to meet. 

The defense got straight to business, offering a guilty plea to assault in the third, one year jail time. Peter scoffed at the offer, but felt strengthened that she was presenting something with jail time at all. There has to be something they haven’t found yet, something that jeopardizes her case. Even so, he isn't confident about taking it to trial. After nearly an hour and a half of back and forth, the opposing attorneys agreed to third degree rape with an open court allocution and 4 years in Rikers. 

As Ms. Staines left, he tried to push down the sense of guilt, of not doing enough. Before he had taken three steps toward his desk, Carmen knocked on his door again, motioning to Lieutenant Benson standing behind her. Peter nodded his approval, allowing her in. 

"Peter. I saw Nikki Staines on my way up. What was that about?" 

He leaned back against his desk. "She came to offer a plea deal. Third degree assault, one year sentence. I managed to get it up to rape in the third. He'll serve four years." 

"Four years? Peter-" 

"It's not nearly enough. I know. But at least it gets him on the registry." 

"Why didn't you call me?" 

"You didn't need to be here. You have open cases; this one was about to go to trial. I know Hoffman deserves a hell of a lot longer than that, but it's his first offense, the victim initially consented and there's a video of her doing so. I know he's guilty, Liv. We all do. I'm just not sure that a jury would convict on what we have." 

She shook her head, sighing with disappointment. "I'll let Angelica know." With that, she left once again. 

He sighed, sagging against his desk in relief. He really couldn't deal with an argument from SVU. Not today. Glancing at his watch, he felt another set of nerves when he realized that he only had an hour left. 

\------------------------- 

Peter approached Tracy Tower from the back entrance, praying his old credentials would still give him access so he didn't have to go in via the lobby secretary. His prayers were answered when the automatic door cleared him. A brief moment of concern for the family company's safety was overridden when the head of security, Carl, came around the corner. 

The older man stopped in surprise. "Scott! It really is you. I thought there had to be an error when I saw your I.D. accessed the building. What brings you here?" 

"Um," the younger man was caught off guard. "My father asked me to meet him for lunch. Any idea where he is?" 

There was a beat of silence as Carl, having always been part of the Tracy's inner circle, took in that information. "He's still in his office. You can head up there or I can let him know you're here if you'd prefer to meet in the dining room?" 

"That…would actually be good. Let him know I'll be waiting down there for him. Thanks, Carl." 

The two men shook hands before heading their separate ways. A few minutes later, Peter was walking into the smaller of the building's dining rooms, accessible to higher level employees. Jeff Tracy preferred that his executives were available to all staff, but couldn't help but acknowledge the benefits of occasionally getting a private meal without new employees or visitors asking for autographs, pictures, or projects. 

The young prosecutor chose a small table in the far corner, placing himself to see all the entrances while still being able to leave quickly if needed. He asked the waiter for a water and sat to wait. Nine minutes and 38 seconds later, the man he came to see entered the room. Jeff didn't see his son immediately, and Peter took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes welling up with tears. The mere sight of the man who raised him made him want to curl into a ball and beg for forgiveness. Before he could do anything, bright blue eyes locked in on him. 

The seconds seemed to drag on as Jeff approached the table and stopped just short of his seat, where time snapped back into focus, "Hello, Scott." 

"Mr. Tracy." His voice was clear, not reflecting the agony swelling inside of him. 

The shock in Jeff's face was obvious and his eyes were ringed with sadness, but he brushed over the moment as he took his seat. 

"You look good, son." 

Peter, _Scott,_ scoffed, "Why am I here?" 

"It's been long enough. You are my son." 

"That's not an answer." 

The two were interrupted by the return of the waiter, who quickly took their orders and made himself scarce. 

The older Tracy sighed, "Scott-" 

"Peter." 

He froze, looking up. "What?” 

"Peter. That's my name now. I'm sure you know that already. If you are going to interrupt my life, risk my anonymity, the least you could do is pretend you care about keeping the press away from me." The fear and sadness was still burning inside him, but so was the anger. 

"Your name is Scott! You can pretend all you want but you are still a part of this family. You are still hurting this family." The patriarch's voice began to rise, but he quickly gained control, ever aware of curious ears. 

"I'm hurting them? You're the one who dragged everyone into your dream. You're the one who wouldn't budge about secrecy even when it endangered your own fucking family. I'm just trying to make a life of my own and the only way I could do that was to leave because _of you._ " 

"Watch yourself." The man's tone was sharp, the same one he used throughout his kids' childhoods to put them in their place. "I didn’t force any of you to sign up. That was your choice." 

"But it really wasn't, was it? You knew there was no way I would let you send them into danger without me there to watch over them. You knew it and you asked me last so I couldn't turn you down. You made me send my little brothers into danger until I couldn't take it anymore and you didn't do anything. You let me walk away. You care about your mission, your secrecy, more than you care about their safety. That is on you, not me. I had to leave, I had to keep myself sane." He inhaled at the end, ready to continue when his phone pinged. "Excuse me. I have to get back to work." 

He left swiftly, not looking back. He held his head high and back straight as he walked, taking a few seconds to sag against the wall outside once he was clear. His mind was racing, but a sense of calm settled over him. His biggest worry was that he would see his father and all his feelings would be cast aside for want of his family back in his life. If that happened, he was sure he would fall back into his old mental state. 

But he didn't. 

He held on to his cause and his pain. He wanted to forgive his father. He wanted his family back. 

But things needed to change.


	2. Beginnings of a New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of Scott's journey after International Rescue. Sometimes things get off to a rough start. Takes place several years before “Hi, Dad”.

Scott Tracy was lying awake in his bed. He hadn't slept more than two fitful hours at a time since it happened. It was the Hood. In a mere few hours, his entire family, his entire world, almost ceased to exist and Scott Tracy had not slept since. 

Every minute he spent in a separate room from the rest of his family, he felt himself lose just a bit more of his grip. In all fairness, they were all traumatized. But Scott was the one sitting guard with his old service gun. He couldn't bear the thought of not being prepared, he needed to be able to protect his family. No matter what. 

Earlier that night when Gordon came to him, speaking softly to convince his eldest brother to put down arms and get some rest, Scott almost laughed. He was just trying to protect his family; he didn't need to be spoken to like a wild animal. All the same, Gordon brought him around. So Scott passed the loaded gun to the only other brother with military training, dutifully ignoring the grimace on Gordon's face as he took hold. The red-haired Tracy squeezed his shoulder, gently pushing him in the direction of his bedroom. 

And now Scott lies here. Waiting. For what, he can't be certain. 

Nearly another week goes by before the idea of reopening International Rescue is mentioned. By then, Scott has stopped carrying the gun everywhere. Now, it stays locked in his bedroom safe during the day, in reach on his nightstand after darkness falls. Still, he doesn't sleep. 

They hold a family meeting. Afterwards, Scott stays in his seat. The other brothers and inner circle filter out, Virgil pauses at the door but continues without a word when his closest brother doesn't follow. When it is only the patriarch and the eldest son, he speaks. 

"We need more agents. People to support us so this doesn't happen again." 

"No," his father disagreed. "The more people we bring in, the more at risk we are. I won't put this family in that position." 

"The Hood got lucky, Dad. He found us. We didn't find him. If we had more people-" 

"I said no." The older man was firm. 

"You need to reconsider. We can't keep operating the way we are. We can't. I won't. I won't keep leading my brothers into danger this way. It's bad enough as is, without madmen coming after us." 

"I am not jeopardizing our technology by bringing in more people." 

"Then you are jeopardizing our family. And I'm not going to be around for it. Either we create a larger safety net, or you get a new field commander." 

Jeff Tracy, the iron-clad businessman, the man who breaks down walls instead of going around them, well, he didn't budge. 

\------------------------- 

When International Rescue resumed operations, it was without their trusted field commander. Scott Tracy, pilot of Thunderbird One was no more. Now, Scott Tracy focused his efforts on the business side of Tracy Industries. He settled in Boston, that way Alan and Fermat could live with him when they went back to school. With all his free-time, and he certainly had a lot of it now, he started volunteering for a nearby fire department. Scott quickly proved himself beyond effective, leading to the offer and acceptance of a full-time position. 

His brothers were supportive, although they did not fully understand. They rallied behind him when he gave his ultimatum- brothers always stick together- but he didn't allow them to follow when he walked out. If they were going to walk away, they needed to come to that decision on their own, not chasing his footsteps in their never-ending loyalty. 

Things were hard for Scott, but they were well. He missed his family, including his father, whom he hadn't heard from since the day he left Tracy Island. He missed his bird, the adrenaline during and after rescues, the sheer impact that he could make on the world with that impressive technology. But he had been suffering for so long that he hadn't even realized how much he was suffering. He had had worse times, but the Scott Tracy post-Hood was on a collision course with himself. He couldn't let that happen. So he crunched numbers and lifted bars and carried people out of burning buildings. And he was healing. 

The day it happened he was driving home- _when had it become home?_ \- from Boston University School of Medicine, where he had completed an interview, hoping to embark on a path he considered what seemed like decades ago. In reality, his service in the Air Force had taken place just a few short years ago and despite his very, very small introduction to medicine, he still had a good grasp of all he learned back then. As a relief and rescue pilot, he had to attain a certain degree of emergency medical training, but once in use, Scott found the more he learned, the better. He shadowed the doctors on base, helping out when he wasn't needed in the air or hangars. After his time as a prisoner, he spent months around the joint special forces base in D.C., where he quizzed his doctors and attended as many Army-medical school classes as his body let him. He knew he'd never be allowed to fly in the Air Force again. Once upon a time, he had a vision of himself as a surgeon, saving lives and getting a different kind of action. That is, until his father came along with an opportunity no young man with the sky in his blood could refuse. 

The day it happened, Scott was in a good mood. He had a good shot at going back to school. Not to mention, in a few more weeks, his youngest brother would be back at school and living with him. He was excited. That is, until he saw the house. 

He didn't know whose house it was or even if anyone was home, but he wouldn't have been able to drive past even if he weren't a firefighter. As he pulled over the car, he called it in just in case no one had, jogged halfway up the drive and yelled for anyone inside to get out, or call if they couldn't. In the distance, he could hear sirens, but they were still quite far. He had been the first to call it in, but he wasn’t sure how. The fire had clearly been burning for a while, spreading throughout the bottom level of the house, and breaching the second floor. He could hear the building creaking and had begun to move back, not confident that it would remain upright until the crew arrived. But then, over the groaning of the timber and the hissing of the flames, he heard screams. He called out, stepping closer to the house again. Another scream, followed by more creaking. There is no way the fire department would make it on time. She sounded like she was close to the front door, the flames there weren't so bad. There was never a scenario where he didn't go in after her. 

Three days later, he woke up at Boston General, but he wasn't whole. 

It was a further three days before he really started to piece things together. He had been on too much pain medication to really have a grasp on anything that had transpired the previous week. But on day six, they began to wean him off just enough that he could remember details. Thankfully, at least in his mind, he had put a friend down as his emergency contact since moving to Boston and she knew enough to not call his family. There was no way he could deal with them now. 

His family would have rallied, they would have done everything they could for him. But it would never be enough. Logically, he knew it wasn't the end of his world, but it sure felt that way looking down. He had a long recovery ahead of him. And he knew no matter how well he healed; he would never be fit to fly for International Rescue again. 

So instead, he hid the truth. When he was able, he called his family. He lied and told his brothers that he got into med school. They congratulated him, but he could see the disappointment in Alan's face when he told them that he got in at a school near D.C., that he wouldn't be able to stay in Boston after all. He knew his brother would be fine. They all would.


	3. Mental State

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place 1.5 months after "Hi, Dad"
> 
> References a past near-death experience.

Mental State 

If there was ever a time Peter wanted to sink through the floor and stay there for an eternity, it was now. Someone must have seen him at Tracy Tower a few weeks ago, that would explain the timing. His identity had not been publicly revealed, but if he was honest, that was the last thing he was worried about. 

Three days after the failed meeting with his father, John called him, confessing that he had discovered Scott’s alias a while ago and had been keeping tabs on him, later providing the information to their father. The conversation was stiff and ended quickly, much to Peter's relief, but it was not the last. John had set to sending a daily text in lieu of a call, since Peter would rarely pick up. In one message, John asked if he could share Peter's number with the rest of their brothers'. He did not respond, although the possibility of them wanting to reach out sparked hope. 

It had been hard enough for them to understand when he walked away from the family business, but after he changed his name, career, and entire life, he thought his absence would be final. How could they not hate him after he shut them out? The longer he went on without them, the more those feelings grew. Not that he didn't want to see his family again. Rather, that seemed like all he wanted. He had never considered himself a coward, but the idea of reaching out to his brothers and being turned away was enough to have him running for the hills. After ten years of no contact, he had long since lost all hope of reconnecting, but the constant presence of his immediate younger brother in his inbox had that light just starting to flicker again. After a few weeks of John's timely messages, Peter had just enough courage to take the leap. He thought about it all day and most of the night, finally deciding to call the blond for the first time the next morning. 

When he woke up, he grabbed his phone, deciding to take a few minutes to rebuild his strength and opened the Web browser. He saw the article thumbnail and felt his heart drop as he clicked the link, immediately closing his phone, and curling up in the tightest ball he could form. He didn't move for three hours. Not until the incessant buzzing became too much. Two calls went to voicemail early on, probably John, but then there were multiple in a row and he realized he was due in court soon. He dragged himself out of bed, barely managing to look presentable, and left, pointedly putting his phone in his jacket without sparing it a glance. 

He passed the offending item off to Carmen before he entered the courtroom, that way he didn't have to unlock it, even just to silence it. He fought to keep his mind from wandering all through the defense’s last witness, one whom he thankfully hadn't planned on questioning anyway, and barely got his closing statement out. As soon as it was over and the jury went to deliberate, he holed himself up in his office. 

He laid on the couch upon entering, feeling lightheaded from his brisk walk, as he hadn't eaten or drank anything since the previous day. He wasn't able to sleep, but he stared at the ceiling, praying to wake up again in his own bed, this day having not yet started. A short time later, Carmen entered and left his cell phone on the table nearest the couch before stepping back out without a word. He ignored it when it rang, the office phone too. If the jury reached a verdict, Carmen would tell him. 

He wasn't really aware of the hours passing until there was a knock at the door. Lieutenant Benson and Detective Carisi didn't wait for him to respond before opening the door, likely knowing he was alone thanks to Carmen. 

"Peter? Are you alright? You seemed off in court." 

"I'm fine." He responded, not turning his head to look at the detectives. "Just didn't sleep well." 

There was a beat of silence before Olivia continued, "If you want to talk about anyth-" 

"I said I'm fine. The case is over, jury's deliberating, not much else to do until they come back." 

"We just came to drop off some files. I have to get home to my son." 

Peter stayed tense as the woman left, noting that the younger detective remained in the room. He didn't acknowledge him, hoping Carisi would leave quickly. 

"You want to grab a beer? Or something to eat? We could go over the trial." 

Peter sat up slowly, "Not tonight." He closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness. "I'm just going to head home." He was forced to sink back onto the couch, the attempt to stand too much for him. 

"You want a ride? You don't look good." 

"I'm fine," he said, head in hands, "I just-" he sucked in a sharp breath. He looked up when he felt something cold tap his arm. Peter took the trashcan Carisi was holding out to him. "Thanks, I don't need it. I just…" He dropped his head again, voice shrinking to a pained whisper. "I'm just tired." 

Carisi sank down onto one end of the couch, for once not saying anything, presumably just waiting for Stone to speak. The men sat in silence for several minutes until Peter forced himself to stand, fighting against the spinning sensation as he moved toward his desk. Carisi stood as well, moving next to the door, wordlessly making it clear that he was driving Peter home. He didn't have the energy to argue so they walked to Carisi's truck in silence. 

Traffic had them detouring past Tracy Tower, the brief glimpse causing tears to stream down Peter's face. He tried to be discrete, but he could see the other man tense in the driver's seat, and the awkwardness filling the car was impossible to ignore. The detour turned into a standstill as traffic backed up with no end in sight. The car was silent for a further 10 minutes, creeping along in traffic just slightly over the length of time. 

Finally, Carisi had enough, "Are you going to tell me what happened?" 

"If I get out now, I can take the subway. You could get out of this at the next intersection and make it home quicker." 

"You aren't getting out of the car." 

A beat of silence. "Are you kidnapping me?" 

A snort from the next seat, "If I have to. You'd think you would want to talk to a friend though. I mean, you've listened to me agonize over my issues enough this past year." 

This time Peter was the one delivering an amused sound, "I certainly have." 

The next period of silence was significantly shorter. "Seriously, Stone. Whatever is going on, if someone is threatening you or something, you really should talk to someone." 

"No one's threatening me." He paused again. "It's not… I don't know where to start. It's not work-related. I know I wasn't my best today, but that won't happen again. You don't have to worry about me not doing my job." 

"That's good to hear. But that's not the whole issue. I meant the thing about being friends, you know? If there is something I can do to help…." 

"There isn't. It's…I did something in the past, it’s kind of come back in a way I didn’t expect. My brothers didn't all know and now they will and it's a lot." 

"I didn't know you had brothers." 

Peter didn't bother responding, leaving the car in silence once again. This time, Carisi allowed it to last. 

\------------------------- 

When his alarm went off in the morning, he was already lying awake with the bitter taste of vomit still strong in his mouth. After Sonny dropped him off, he forced himself to choke down a piece of toast and juice, which he threw back up soon after. Even after brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth, the taste lingered. He knew he wasn't going to get much sleep, so he didn't bother trying harder to get rid of it. He drew his phone closer, unlocking it and resisting the urge to throw it against the bedroom wall. He scrolled through a few apps, noting the presence of a 'call me asap please' text from John, before he reopened the web browser for the first time since the previous morning. 

TROUBLED TRACY: WHAT LED TO ELDEST SON'S SUICIDE ATTEMPT? 

He started to read the first sentence before closing out of the browser, instead clicking on his text icon. His finger hovered over the name of his immediate younger brother as he tried to come up with what he could say. In theory, John would be the easiest to talk to, as he was the only brother who actually knew what happened. But when faced with reality, he couldn't lean on John any more than he could reach out to the rest of his siblings. Instead, he sent a text to Sonny, asking him to drop by the DA's office later in the morning. 

A few hours later, he looked up from his laptop to see the detective standing in the door. He entered the office, taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk when Peter motioned him in. Neither spoke as Peter finished typing his sentence- it was one of few good ideas he'd had all day regarding SVU's current case and he didn't want to lose it. After he finished typing, he leaned back in his seat and addressed the other man. 

"Sorry about that. I wanted to thank you for last night. I know it was pretty out of your way. Hopefully it didn't take you too much longer to get home?" 

"It was fine. Besides, you didn't really look fit to drive." 

Peter raised his eyebrows briefly and nodded, "Yeah, I didn't really eat yesterday. I think I was just dehydrated, probably low blood sugar too. I'm good now." 

Carisi leaned forward in his seat. "I'm glad you changed your mind. Wanting to talk about it helps." 

"I don't. I don't want to talk about it. But I, um… Do you want some coffee?" 

Sonny nodded, apparently willing to give Peter the extra time to prepare. After filling two cups with coffee from the already-brewed pot, the younger man sat back down, sliding one mug across the desk. There was silence as they took in the first few sips of their coffee before Peter squirmed in his seat, unable to be the tiniest bit comfortable in the shadow of the coming conversation. 

"I haven't seen my family in years. I, um, I had a disagreement with my father and I left. I had lunch with him a few weeks back and it went really badly. I've been in contact with one of my brother's since then, but I wasn't ready to reach out to the others yet. I abandoned them and I know I can't just…walk back into their lives. I was going to call John though, the one who's been contacting me. But yesterday…" He fiddled with the mug between his hands. 

"I woke up in the morning and there was this…. When I was 22, I was in a bad place. I had been hurt pretty severely and I was really messed up. I ended up overdosing on my pain meds. I didn't do it on purpose, but I can't honestly say I wasn't disappointed when I woke up." Carisi shifted in his seat, but mercifully stayed quiet. "Since I was already in and out of the hospital, most people didn't know, they didn't think much of it when I had to go back in." He let out a disparaging laugh, picking at the band of his watch. "John and my dad and my grandma are the only ones…Were the only ones. But now my other brothers know because someone is out there saying that I tried to kill myself and obviously they don't understand and they have to hate me and…" He trailed off shakily, head meeting hand as he tried to hide his watery eyes. 

"You haven't talked to them since they found out?" The other man asked softly. Peter didn't bother vocalizing an answer, merely shaking his head. "Maybe you should." When Peter looked up, he continued. "I can't imagine what it's like for you and your family, but I know that no matter what my sisters do, I love the heck out of them. Maybe if you connect with them, they'll surprise you." 

Peter nodded slowly. "I _abandoned_ them, Sonny. I left and I tried to hide myself from them like a fucking coward and that doesn't just go away." 

The buzzing of Carisi's phone cut through the quiet room and both men shifted, Sonny looking apologetic as he pulled out the device. Peter waved him off and watched as he read through the text message and quickly responded. "That was Rollins, we finally have something to go on." 

"Then you'd better get going." The lawyer raised his hand to silence the detective before he spoke. "I'm good. Thank you for coming by." 

Carisi nodded as he grabbed his jacket, "If you need to talk about it more, or anything, let me know." 

Peter nodded, picking up his coffee. 

“Oh, and Stone?" He waited until they made eye contact. "I'm glad you aren't dead." 

Peter tried to form a smile, more of a grimace really, as he nodded once again. He sighed and sagged into his chair after the door latched shut once again. He turned to his laptop, knowing he had tons of paperwork to get through, but transitioning back to litigating didn't seem possible at the moment. He tapped lightly on the keys, not pushing hard enough to register anything, before he pulled his phone out again. Nerves fluttered in his stomach as he scrolled back through his text messages, finally finding the one in which John had attached everyone's phone numbers. 

After brief indecision, he clicked on the number for the youngest Tracy. He wanted to talk to all of his little brothers immensely, but he had always had a different sort of bond with the baby of the family. He took a deep breath as he pressed the call icon and positioned the phone at his ear. In the brief time it rang, he tried to plan what he was going to say, but once the line connected, he lost any sensible thought. With just a simple 'hello?', his baby brother had thrown him for a loop. He sounded so grown up, which of course, he was. Nonetheless, he had to get it together and say something. 

"Allie? It's me, it's um, it's Scott. I-" 

The line went dead. He felt his heart crumble even more, voice dropping to a whisper, "Allie?" When there was no response, he put down the phone, covering his eyes with his one hand, fisting the other in his hair. 

He sat in silence for several minutes, feeling the rejection he was so worried about for the past 10 years finally wash over him. What was he expecting? Of course they weren't going to want to talk to him, especially now. Soon enough he sniffed, wiping across his eyes, and turning back to the work he needed to get done. 

\------------------------- 

Peter huffed as he exited the briefing room ahead of detectives Rollins and Carisi. "We need more. It was difficult enough to get a warrant based on this and it barely got us anything useful. We need something better to get a conviction. So find it." 

Rollins rolled her eyes as he stalked off, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think he's actually more pissed off than normal." 

"He's…got a lot going on. Give him a break. We got work to do." 

The woman arched an eyebrow. "Oh? What is it you know?" 

Sonny hesitated, "It's personal stuff. Don't worry about it." 

As the pair passed through the lobby on their way out, they each caught a glimpse of a dark-haired woman walking up to their ADA and clearly startling him. 

Across the room, Peter looked up toward the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and was shocked to see an older but recognizable Tintin Kyrano. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but snapped it shut again when she stopped in front of him. The two stared at each other, then Tintin took another step forward, wrapping her arms around the man. 

After a brief second, he lifted his arms to return the hug and pressed his face into her hair. "Hi, Tin." 

"Scott." After a few seconds, they separated. "It's so good to see you." 

"You, I…What are you doing here?" He asked, trying to ignore the wetness of his eyes. His sister was here. 

"I had some stuff to do in New York. Since you're here, it seemed like a good time." 

He managed a tiny smile, with another whisper of her name. They decided to go to a shop nearby to get coffee and talk. They chatted the walk over and while in line about simple things, waiting until they were seated to start talking about their lives. He was content to let Tintin do most of the talking, filling him in on the family and her marriage to Alan. 

"We have a little girl now, Sam, she's a year and a half." 

"I know. There was an article about it after you guys announced publicly." 

"We decided to get married when we were eighteen, you know. But we didn't. Alan couldn't. Your dad and my parents weren't too happy about it in the first place, but they finally agreed and then we couldn't do it anyways. Alan was convinced that you would come back. He didn't want to get married without his entire family there. John finally talked sense into him, it only took three years." 

He looked down. "I'm surprised Alan wasn't upset about you meeting me. When I called the other day-" 

"No one knows I looked you up. I wasn't sure if you would want them to know. Scott, we all miss you. I know a lot has happened, but you are still family and I think you all need to see each other." 

He opened his mouth, but she continued before he could say anything. "They don't hate you. I know you, I know that's what you are thinking, but they could never. They're angry. And confused. And rattled. No one was expecting…. John told us what really happened. But all of it was a shock and Alan felt betrayed. It hit Gordon and Virgil hard too. But Alan, well, when you called, it caught him off guard. As soon as he hung up, he regretted it, but he couldn't bring himself to call back. He'd never admit it, but he's afraid of what is going to happen. He just wants his brother back, but I think it's starting to occur to him that you've changed, just like the rest of us have. He doesn't know who you are anymore and that terrifies him." 

He didn't know what to think. He wanted to feel hope, but was that really realistic? "I'm terrified too. I don't know how to… I don't know, Tin." 

She smiled sympathetically. "There is something else." She started going through her bag. "We haven't told the others yet; this was my first official appointment." She handed him a picture, a real smile on her face. As soon as he realized what it was, his face mirrored hers. "I'm only at about nine weeks. We're going to have to tell the others soon because obviously I need to be taken off the duty roster." 

He congratulated her; genuine excitement threatened by a voice inside his head reminding him of how much of his family's lives he had missed. They talked for a while longer until Tintin had to leave for a meeting. She made sure he had her number and promised to keep in touch, not pushing him to try contacting the others yet. 

After she left, he felt a pang of loneliness, but it wasn't enough to override the good mood her visit put him in. As uncertain as he was about how the future would pan out, at least now he had a little hope. He walked out of the coffee shop, taking his time to stroll back to the office while enjoying the sunshine. It would never be as comforting or beautiful as his family's island home, but he had to admit the view could be pretty wonderful at times in Manhattan. 

As he walked, he pondered his next steps. For now, his identity appeared to be safe, so there was no rush to make any big decisions. Nevertheless, he was restless, he had been for a while. He didn't dare plan too far ahead, there was too much potential for heartbreak, but he did know his next move. He pulled out his cell and opened up his contact list. It was late on Tracy Island time so he'd probably be asleep. The phone rang a few times before the connection clicked. Peter felt himself smiling, "Hey John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The injury leading to the overdose takes place shortly after Scott returns from Bereznik, where he was held as a prisoner of war during his time in the Air Force. I *might* follow up on this in the future,  
> Thanks for reading :)


	4. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows closely behind Mental State. A brief introduction to Scott's psychiatrist and how they met. This will be explored more later on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Truly did not expect to take this long, but limited internet access and busy summer schedules caused some issues. I made some minor edits to the first three chapters, nothing that changes the story drastically. I am hoping to have a follow-up of this ready shortly. Thanks for reading!

He woke with a start, breathing heavily through the pain radiating from his leg. After a few minutes with no relief, he shifted his upper body, pulling the long, rectangular mirror out from under his bed and placing it just as Dr. Torres showed him in the months following his accident. As he stared at the reflection, he tried to focus on his breathing but was unable to stop his mind from wandering. 

He twitched, haunted by the sensations, the smells, his mind working against him to drag him back to that excruciating moment... He stared at the mirror as he juggled his options. He glanced at his phone, sighing at the time, but made the call anyway. He hardly had to wait for the line to connect. 

"Hello?" 

"Lisa. I'm sorry it's so early. I just. I need you." 

"Don't worry about it. Talk to me." 

Peter began rambling about his pain, his memories, and everything that had happened in the past several days. Lisa listened on the other end, allowing him to vent without interruption. The longer he talked, the more his vivid memories of agony and the bitter smell of smoke and burning flesh felt like dreams. Of course, it was real once, but the smell was years in the past. As he talked, he stared at the reflection, marking where his leg should be. _The pain isn’t real._ There are no nerves beyond the stump just past his knee, so there can’t be pain. 

His rambling slowed as he finished telling her about his most recent phone call with John. His younger brother had been available night and day, calling and texting constantly to catch up on the last ten years. The conversations became easier as time went on, the men falling back into their old rituals. Peter was comforted by John’s never-ending patience and dedication. No matter how terrible Peter was feeling, John was concise, he didn’t lie to make him feel better, but he also didn’t condemn his older brother for his choices. John was understanding of his reluctance to speak to the rest of the family and didn’t push, although he did occasionally share a few messages from the other Tracy boys, mainly Gordon. 

After a few breaths of silence, Lisa began speaking. “How’s your leg feeling now?” 

He exhaled slowly, “Better. I can still _feel_ it, but it’s not so bad anymore.” 

“Good. I want you to keep looking at the mirror until it feels normal. You remember what we decided on for a coping plan?” 

He nodded, followed by a soft, “Yeah,” because of course she couldn’t see him. 

“Try to get some sleep if you can, but for now, focus on the mirror. Have you been using it daily?” 

“No.” He knew he was supposed to, but after the first two years, he tapered off, not using the therapy method unless the pain was too great. 

“Think about using it for 20 minutes every day, especially right now. It would help with the pain and possibly with the depression. Remember that you have medication for a reason. I know you don’t like taking it all the time, but it’s okay to use it when your other techniques aren’t enough.” 

He sighed, “I know, I just didn’t expect to still be dealing with it this much. When they took my leg, they kept saying how I’d get used to it. The phantom pain probably wouldn’t last more than a couple of years, the anxiety would level out as soon as I got back to a normal life. It’s all such bullshit.” 

“Isn’t it always?” He thought he could hear the wry smile in her voice. “It’s always bullshit. They have no idea, none of us do. Sure, sometimes phantom pain stops within the first few years, but Scott, your body suffered a major trauma and it still doesn’t quite know how to respond. And remember that what you are feeling, that anxiety, that depression, it was all around before you lost your leg. Did that make your situation worse? Absolutely. But we have been working on these feelings for years, and we will keep working on them. There isn’t always a magic switch to healing, but you are doing a great job and I am in your corner just like always.” 

“I know. I do. Things just feel so _off._ I was finally settling and dealing with the fact that my family is not all of who I am anymore, and now I’m just terrified of what they’ll think again.” 

“Well, you already know what John thinks. So that’s a start. You don’t have to rush into anything. They can wait. What matters is that you don’t compromise your health to cater to other people’s needs. Work can wait, your friends can wait, and so can your family.” 

\------------------------- 

_***Thirteen Years Prior***_

“Hello, Scott,” The woman began, sitting a few feet from his hospital bed, “I’m Dr. Anders. You can call me Lisa.” She allowed a few beats of silence, giving him the opportunity to respond. When he didn’t, she continued. “I’m a psychiatrist here in D.C. but I received my license in Boston about eight years ago. I’m here because I’ve worked closely with many soldiers and may be able to help you. I understand your situation is quite difficult; however, you survived and that is what matters. It may not seem like it now, but that is a feat in and of itself. Everything else, we will be able to confront as we get to it. It’s fine if you aren’t comfortable talking today, or even the next few times I come to see you, but I’m hoping you’ll get to know me and things will be easier.” 

He didn’t respond, just watched her watch him. He’s taut as a bowstring despite the weariness to his stature. The exhaustion is clearly written in his face, but he looks ready to spring from the bed, and she’s not sure she could stop him. She studies him as they sit in silence, he avoids eye contact even as he seems to be sizing her up. The index finger of his right-hand rubs back and forth on the mattress, some bid to keep in motion despite his physical state. Her eyes track his features, looking for indications of interest. It’s unlikely that he will talk and she can’t push him- he's spent the past year being tortured for information and now is not the time to see how he would react to invasive questions. It will likely take him weeks to even begin to trust her, she suppressed a shudder at the thought of what the man in front of her went through. Lisa reminded herself to relax into her seat, hoping that the ease of her movements would encourage him to loosen up as well. He watched her warily but didn’t flinch with her slow movements, which she counted as a win. She had nowhere near enough information to diagnose him, but she would bet on filling out a preliminary report based on severe depression and PTSD at the least. His stony posture indicates he has not yet fully accepted his removal from the prison camp, she noted with interest. Most of those rescued in his group had already begun to come to terms. At the very least, the others had been reunited with their families. She knew enough to realize the situation was precarious, the Tracy family had thought Scott dead for over a year and had yet to be informed of his survival. The mere mention of calling in his father and brothers had sent the man into a panic forcing him to be sedated. Thanks to a truly insane series of events, Scott didn’t have to be fully alone. It was pure coincidence that Gordon Tracy, teenage runaway-turned WASP soldier, was on the team that raided the hidden Berezni prison camp. Since he was eighteen and able to calm his tortured brother, the doctors in charge of Scott’s care allowed the siblings some leeway in keeping their presence from the rest of the family. 

She smiles suddenly, he doesn’t like it. Seeing people smile is unnatural, no one smiled unless they were about to inflict pain, not anymore. He resists flinching, aware of the intensity behind her gaze. He may have been pulled out of the Box weeks ago, transported to the U.S. just days ago, but that didn’t mean he was safe. Scott knew he would never be safe again. He watches her wearily as she goes to the door, looking out in both directions before she stands to the side to allow an orderly with a rolling cart in. She is still smiling. 

“I guess I picked the right time to come by. Do you mind if I eat my lunch in here with you?” She asked as the orderly starting setting up Scott’s tray beside him. 

_It’s a trick,_ His mind told him. He didn’t know how, but it had to be. She wasn’t going to leave him alone until she proved he was crazy. When he didn’t respond, Lisa sat back down with a different tray and nodded at the orderly to leave them. 

Scott watched as she carefully pulled the lid off her jello, silence falling yet again. She glanced at him occasionally, but he refused to move. He stared even after she softly reminded him that it was okay to eat, unwilling to let himself be more vulnerable. He knew he was back. He knew logically that they were not going to take what he had away from him, but he could not let himself depend on them. Just in case. 

Minutes of silence ticked by, Lisa finishing her meal while Scott had not touched his, before the door swung open. Gordon Tracy, WASP specialist, Gold Medal Olympic swimmer, little brother, sauntered in through the door, chattering away as always. He barely greeted the woman as he threw himself in the chair beside his brother’s bed, feet up next to Scott’s hip in seconds. Gordon pulled the tray toward himself, still talking, and removed the lid. 

His nose screwed up, “Mashed potatoes. Of course. You’d think they could be more creative. I'm not eating these,” he said, pushing the tray back in front of his eldest brother. Gordon swung his legs off the bed, sitting upright to lean closer. “You sick of them too? I can probably sneak in some burgers. Probably going to make you puke, but worth it, right?” Gordon talked and talked, carefree attitude at the forefront, as if his brother wasn’t lying broken in the bed in front of him. 

Faker. Scott knew his siblings better than he knew himself. He could tell Gordon was rattled. Why he bothered pretending otherwise, who knew? He let the younger Tracy babble on, knowing that if he interrupted, he might not be able to just drink in the sight of the only family he’d seen in over a year. He was so focused on his brother’s features that he hardly even noticed when Gordon handing him the spoon and he automatically began eating. 

It didn’t take him long to finish, he wasn’t allowed much food to begin with in his condition. He was vaguely annoyed to realize the psychiatrist was still in the room. He doesn’t like that she’s watching Gordon as well. Scott glares at her, wishing she would get the message and leave. Before that could happen, the door opened following a soft knock and Gordon was called out by another woman, one of Scott’s surgeons. The ginger left, squeezing his brother’s hand on his way, before leaving him in silence with the sharp-eyed, brunette psychiatrist again. 

She shifted in her seat, “How was it?” He didn’t move. “Honestly, I hate mashed potatoes. I was sick once as a kid, it was the only thing my mom fed me for days because I couldn’t keep anything else down. Haven’t been able to eat them since.” 

He still didn’t respond, but that didn’t seem to faze her. Scott briefly entertained the idea of yelling, throwing a fit and scaring her out of the room, but he didn’t really want to end up locked in a psych ward. _Guess I’ll just have company._ He’d rather be alone. He was sick of people surrounding him, prodding him. He was rarely alone in The Camp, everything was so loud there, even at night. He was only ever alone in the Box. But how was he supposed to learn to cope if they never left him the fuck alone?


End file.
